Per te nacque (a Musketeer Fanfiction filed LADA)
by zorrorosso
Summary: It's a long story... Drawn my inspiration from the novels of The Three Musketeers, as well as I kept something about the characters and change some, took major influence from many movies (especially the 2014 series, 2011 one and one from 1974) and most of all Anime Sanjushi (Sous le signe des mousquetaires). This is my own tribute with my own add-ons and tranformations.
1. Chapter 1

_"For you* Don Quixote was born and I for him. His was the power of action, mine of writing. Only we two are at one, despite that fictitious and Tordillescan scribe who has dared, and may dare again, to pen the deeds of my valorous knight with his coarse and ill-trimmed ostrich feather. This is no weight for his shoulders, no task for his frozen intellect; and should you chance to make his acquaintance, you may tell him to leave Don Quixote's weary and mouldering bones to rest in the grave, nor seek, against all the canons of death, to carry him off to Old Castile, or to bring him out of the tomb, where he most certainly lies, stretched at full length and powerless to make a third journey, or to embark on any new expedition. For the two on which he rode out are enough to make a mockery of all the countless forays undertaken by all the countless knights errant, such has been the delight and approval they have won from all to whose notice they have come, both here and abroad. Thus you will comply with your Christian profession by offering good counsel to one who wishes you ill, and I shall be proud and satisfied to have been the first author to enjoy the pleasure of witnessing the full effect of his own writing. For my sole object has been to arouse men's contempt for all fabulous and absurd stories of knight errantry, whose credit this tale of my genuine Don Quixote has already shaken, and which will, without a doubt, soon tumble to the ground. Farewell."_

Charles ran his fingers on the last words that plied the page, and looked up at a white sunset, covered with trees, the clear sky that afternoon was still too cold to delay grazing withdrawal, he put his book in his saddle bag, and he whistled rapidly toward the dogs.

On the horizon, the white mountains reminded him of how the snow had not yet melted to leave room for the gray-black of the summer rock, but the slate roofs of stone houses shined black and glossy to a mountain sun, warmth brought only by daylight.

At the signal, the flock soon reached Monsieur André, a shepherd at the service of his family, further down the valley, who directed the animals on the road to the estate, while the boy briefly stroked his copper-colored foal and he undid the reins from the trunk of a tree.

The docile horse walked without hurry at Charles' pace, who closed the path of the long row of sheep before him, on the countryland road.

The sound of fast and heavy hooves joined him from behind, he turned to a muscular horse, pitch black, almost twice its own and a richly dressed man pulled the bridle, stopping with arrogance.

"Charles de Batz!" - he exclaimed, without even taking off the headgear.

"Marquis of Navarre!" - Said the boy, returning the greeting with a short bow.

"Three of your sheep grazed among my cows this morning" - continued the noble, the strong build, but the trivial face, was indistinguishable from that of any other man.

"Do not worry, Marquis! Monsieur André has retrieved them earlier. Compliments for the beauty your animals"- said Charles, waving to the sheppard before them. Even Monsieur André noticed the noble and bowed his head in a gentle reverence before continuing on to the estate.

"I know, my cows are among the largest creatures of France and Spain, but I say! The world! "- laughed the noble.

"Ah, Marquis, there are larger creatures than your beasts ..." - laughed the boy in response. The man sobered, opened his eyes and looked at him with surprise, as if those words were a complete novelty to his ears.

"How?" - asked him, becoming more serious.

"I'm sorry to contradict you, but your cows are not the largest creatures of France, nor the world" - the boy explained.

"Do you want to say I am a liar and a blowhard? Count de Batz, were you insulting me?"- asked the Marquis of Navarra.

"No, your beasts are really of large specimens, beautiful and healthy, but... You see, in the world there are many larger creatures of any cow. Bestiary content is full of unicorns, elephants and dragons. An adult elephant counts two horses in height and the same in length. Some say that they saw, and not too long ago, creatures like dragons, maybe three or four times an elephant, crossing the sky and cover the sun... I do not see how one of your cows can do the same "- contemplated the boy without fear.

"Your book contains creatures impossible to imagine, but maybe you're reading too much and watch too little, Charles. That is how the sheep run away when you have your nose pointed at the sky, waiting for a dragon or an elephant that never arrives. I advise you to abandon your bestiary, your herbarium and other documents, but look at the world around you, you will see that such creatures do not exist and your texts have always lied to you! "- exclaimed the man irritated by his words .

"The texts may even lie, Marquis. However you question the volumes of people that existed with real eyes and ears, some of them still live and are ready to put into words what I have failed to do with his own pen"- the Count ignored the boy' speech and put forward, Charles found the gesture extremely rude.

"But if their voice and their eyes, and those of many other witnesses will seem too little for you, what do you make of those texts whose authors and witnesses are dead and buried for over a thousand years? What do you make of the sacred scriptures then? "- The boy asked.

"You put in doubt the sacred texts?"- Asked the Marquis in response, whose attention was suddenly revived.

"It is you who have questioned all the texts!" - exclaimed Charles.

"You have just said that tomes such as those of the Gospels might lie. Let us take you home, and talk about all this to Mr. Count D'Artagnan..."- he said the Marquis breath taking.

"Mr. Count D'Artagnan died..."- muttered the boy, in an uncertain voice.

"Are you D'Artagnan now?" - Asked the Marquis, impatiently.

Charles looked down, the wound of his soul was not healed for what the man had just questioned, offended him more than any insult.

"Your godfather will not be at all happy. Sin of heresy is a very serious offense! "- Said the man, making his way in front of him, between the white sheep, the visible vapor of their breaths and their smell.

"I told no heresy!"- said the boy.

"Let the inquisitor judge what is heresy and what not. It is unheard of that you find yourself denying the sacred texts, I want to talk to your tutor! "- He said, spurring his horse to the head of the flock and in front of Monsieur André, who looked intrigued by his strange ways.

At the family estate, which numbered at least one hundred years old, and of these forty under his patronage, the Count de Batz was sitting by the hearth. The weight of his years had now whitened all his hair and began to hold him longer by the fire.

He did not pay much attention to the entrance of the young nephew, but felt something strange when the boy did not greet, as per usual, and not proceeded to his room, but he met his presence and that of the Navarra Marquis.

The latter not bowed to his old age, do not put all due respect, he did not remove his hat. He paused in front of the older man, holding out his hands to the sides and warmed up from the cold of the long gallop toward the house, he declared:

"Brood a heretic in your home."

Count de Batz rolled his turquoise eyes. Unlike the old tapestries, now forgotten symbols and statues from the scarred faces, only those in the years remained the emblem of what was once the noble family now reduced to poverty. Once gathered his forces to the heat of fire, the elder stood up.

Compared to his ancestors and successors, Count de Batz was a fairly tall man, so as to compare his height to that of the Navarra Marquis and command, at a glance, the compliance he lacked until then.

"Charles, what does this man mean?"- He said, turning quickly to his grandson.

"I and Monsieur André complimented the cows of the Marquis. Those are beautiful cows, large and healthy ..."- explained the boy.

"The greatest animals in the whole world!"- corrected the nobleman.

That again sprang in the boy his will to back and argue the man.

"It is not possible! I read it in the bestiary and my father said that he saw... "- Charles tried to explain.

"Listen to this, de Batz! Your nephew is ruined! He has read too many silly books and too little to the Gospel! Does not distinguish between the two texts, does not distinguish the true from fiction, the sacred from the profane! Therefore is not worth land for grazing and heritage, he needs a proper education!"- said the Marquis clutching in a mocking smile.

"In the meantime I myself could take charge of your land..." - he added naturally.

"D'Artagnan has many brothers, expert men. They will take his land and livestock, if this is of your concern, your grace! "- assured the older man, without looking away.

"As you wish. However I do not want to see again your beasts with mine. Your dogs barking at my cows and your shepherds on my estate. The next time this heretic will sit on my hill, I'll no longer be asking him questions, but the Inquisitor of Navarre will!"- the Marquis clenched his fists and gritted his teeth as one of his howling hounds could do, which he often was surrounded with and which he still smelled of.

"And so it is!" - Replied the old Count.

De Batz drew a long sigh, and, tired of fighting with the Marquis' arrogance, raised his voice exclaiming: "Get out of my house. Now!".

The fire lost intensity and sank the home in silence and darkness of the night. The elder Earl turned to his nephew, without rancor and without anger against him. He noticed how he was still shaken by this experience, but knew he could not defend him forever from the hard truth.

The De Batz had almost nothing except their blazon. It was hard for him to express his anger and wounded pride of his youth, the boy wiped his tears and breathed in through the nose, still silent.

"Charles, I continue to see you as a baby, but now the years have passed and I find myself talking to a man with his thoughts and his ideas, the will to argue his interlocutor, heedless of threats. Despite my eyes fail even to notice, if the Navarra Marquis may call you before a court, so the King can call you in his sight as a fighter"- said him thoughtfully and downed to the hearth, adding firewood.

With his hands still trembling, Charles took out the book from his bag, and thumbed, with a brief rustling of the finger, then put it with his other volumes in a corner of the room used as a small study.

The elderly gentleman read the title, as he had done so many times before over the last few years.

"So you would like to become a errant knight?"- asked the Count with suspicion.

"What better we have in our time, a musketeer!" - She corrected Charles, strutting by the renewed pride.

"May the gods be for you what were not for your father" - sighed the elder and, from the corner of the hearth, took out an old sword blackened by soot of the fireplace. The young man looked at the rusty handle and the blade parade. It was an unusable weapon.

Charles did not lose heart: he took a shoulder strap and a leather sheath, which he used to keep his wooden sword, memory of his childhood games, and wore it as if it were real.

Once the handle would be polished and the blade sharpened, he may do of that thing an object which at least he could defend himself from bandits.

"You will leave for Paris at dawn and, under my recommendation, ask of the Captain de Treville. As so as the Marquis de Navarra could find of you nor even the shadow!".


	2. Chapter 2

At sunrise the boy had already left Batz and his estate, the skyline of the mountains became more and more tenuous and white, up to disappear and give way to the clouds, sometimes gray, a windy winter and tenuous or torrential rains, mud that covered his poor animal just above the tip of its ears.

There was a break in Toulouse and one near Clermont, before the mountains begin to be more rare and their white was replaced by the green valleys and milder hills of Bourges and Orleans.

Other foreingn cities and villages welcomed D'Artagnan in short overnight stops, always ready to leave at dawn with the pulsing desire to arrive as quickly as possible in Paris and see his dream finally came true.

The sun set not far from the goal, but that night there was no time to fall asleep, he would come before the king's palace in the morning.

He tried to stay awake until dawn, but once he arrived at an inn just off the Palace of the Louvre, sat on a bench with a glass of wine and tried to stay awake without success.

A few hours later he awoke in the local stables, the owner threw him out. Heated by the dampness of the thick tongue and grassy breath of his horse, opened his eyes and a strange sight appeared before him.

A military smiled at this scene from the top of his foal. Both royal and ecclesiastical emblems sported in his uniform that looked like that of a musketeer and certainly could not be described in any other way, but his uniform had little to do with the descriptions and stories told in Gascony.

"What beautiful equine you ride! It's a donkey? "- The man asked in an accent that he had never heard before.

"It's a hack, but I say hack, is ahead of all its nags. So it Rocinante ... "- he replied D'Artagnan, proudly.

"What brings you to Paris?"- Asked the man, as if he had not heard the boy's words. He showed a certain age, perhaps the age he might have had his father, if he had lived, and seemed to show as much experience in the field: scars were running down his face, his hair had not yet whitened. It had one eye covered, perhaps the sign of a more serious misfortune to all others.

"I have a letter of recommendations to be presented to the Captain de Treville. I want to become a musketeer of the royal guard! "- Exclaimed the boy without fear.

The soldier in full uniform laughed vulgarly, but composed himself shortly after.

"Oh, it is a very noble gesture on your side. It so happens that I personally know Captain de Treville. If you want I can deliver myself your letter of recommendations"- he said, wiping away a tear of excitement and laughing still amused.

"No matter, I thank you immensely, but I would rather deliver it alone. Do you know where can I find him? "- asked again D'Artagnan, oddly intrigued by the fun of the military.

The man laughed again, so much that tears kept flowing from the corner of the tight eye, and he had to rub his nose and take a breath.

"Of course! Venture to the real barracks in the Louvre palace"- he said after a long pause.

"With great pleasure! I thank you for your help and thanks to good make!"- Exclaimed the boy, riding in the saddle of Rocinante and exchanging with the military a short nod.

Soon the young man understood the reason for that lot of fun: the only letter of recommendation he had would never get him to court, the captain would have to invite him.

D'Artagnan waited in front of the palace gates almost an entire day without the guards would find the Captain de Treville, and receive from him permission to let him in. Finding no answers but impassive faces of the guards, indifferent to his expectations, when the dusk stole away the last light of sunset and the chill of the evening became unbearable, the boy surrendered to his sadness and left out the palace gates to return at the inn.

Here laid another reality that came forward to him in the succession of things happened that fateful day: the money for that last glass of wine drunk in the morning were the last of his savings. The long journey had taken away most of the few gains of those winter months and only after the spring de Batz could earn some more.

Like them, however, even the innkeepers were starved of money and food in short supply at the end of that long winter, and so he was not allowed by the innkeeper neither in credit or clemency.

He returned on the dark road, from which beautiful moon was visible, not quite full, and it seemed immensely rich and great in the line of a horizon without mountains.

He leaned against the wall and sighed.

He could always give up his nobility and become a shepherd, or try to enter the most northern armies, far ahead of Rochelle, where a annal war had already claimed too many lives. However it was not the right fate for a musketeer, and did not want to just give up on the first day.

In the midst of these thoughts, a carriage approached the tired boy.

"What are you doing alone at this hour?" - Asked a voice from the window, he could see part of a woman's face, rosy lips and white as the moon itself.

"I ... I can not afford a room at the inn, I do not have enough money" - he said, more sincere in his regrets.

"I'm sorry. Your eyes are too beautiful, so young, do not deserve so much sadness ... Let me pay for you tonight! "- So saying, she reached out her hand in a fairly heavy bag. D'Artagnan opened it: it contained enough gold coins and meals for that night and perhaps for some later.

"Thank you! How could I ever repay such kindness of your favor? "- He asked, his face lit up with hope and let out a smile.

"I have a favor to ask of you just as important, you should accompany me to the royal residence, I have to deliver an urgent message to the Queen" - she said, popping her head and hands out of the carriage.

"With great pleasure! I'm just back from there, we are not far away"- he said.

She nodded satisfied and re-entered the vehicle.

"What a strange accent you have! You are not French! "- Cried D'Artagnan about leaving.

"No, I come across the sea, I'm English..." - she said, motioning to the tenant to resume the journey.

The boy followed them up to the carriage near the Royal Palace. There, the woman got out of his car and went up on the horse of the young. Under the directions of the mysterious lady both were introduced in the courtyard free from the sight of guards, and kept to an isolated wing of the building.

Here the mysterious lady asked for help to get down and disappeared into the shadows of some arches.

No guard surveilled the area while he was waiting, but a gentle voice broke the boredom of the night silence.

"Please announce" - said a shadow in front of him. It seemed to be quite young, but also frightened by his presence.

"Who are you? Please announce! "- Repeated the voice. From the depths of a dark coat, the blade of a small knife shined in the moonlight.

"Announce your arrival or I call the guards!" - Said the girl for the third time.

"My name is D'Artagnan," - he said.

"Are you here on behalf of The English?" - She asked, with more confident voice.

"Yes, The English has a message for the Queen ..." - he replied confidently, trying to comfort the girl.

"The Queen?" - She said in a trembling voice - "I thought was here for the Cardinal" - she whispered to himself, long blond hair sticking out from her cloak and wearing a light blue dress.

"And who would you be?" - Asked D'Artagnan.

"I'm a lady of the court at Queen Anna's service. Beware of what you just said. If misfortune happen at your arrival, I will personally come and look for you! "- Threatened her, hiding again the tool.

The young man looked at the slender silhouette of the young woman disappearing into the shadows and smiled at her strange attitude.

The English noblewoman soon returned and climbed nimbly on his horse, the two walked long courtyards of the Louvre Into the darkness of night, but soon the light of the lantern in the carriage radiated them again.

The boy got out of the saddle and helped the woman, in the last few minutes of greeting, he wished to dwell more about his new covenant and the reasons that led the mysterious lady.

D'Artagnan looked at her curiously. It was small, with bright, slightly wavy hair, was wearing clothes that did not remember ever to have seen before and which stood out parts of the female body that could not remember to have seen before.

He blushed and bowed to such beauty.

"Get up!" - She said, taking her hands in his. They were small and delicate as those of a doll.

"You've been of great help. I hope to meet you again for your services "- continued in the silence of the boy.

"Pardon the rudeness, but I will not be with you tonight, someone is waiting for me. Goodbye and good luck in Paris ... "- she turned away from him and the carriage disappeared soon from his view.

That night the sheets on his bed at the inn seemed to have the most fragrant smell, the meal most substantial, and sleep came almost unwittingly abandoning the worldliness of a frugal life in a city that never sleeps, even after sunset.

A smile gleamed across his sleeping face: Paris was really the city of dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, once left the top floor of the inn, D'Artagnan descended the ladder with fast and joyful pace, and saluted the innkeeper.

"Do you know where I would find Captain de Treville?" - asked the boy, but the man shook his head and turned to his other clients.

A rider not far from them removed his hat to reveal a head of long and shiny black hair, a clear and well cared face from someone who came from a social class higher than that of his garments, stepped forward and reached out for a bunch of cards, the other hand was holding a bottle of wine, which did not seem to want to offer to his cronies.

"Treville, you said?" - He asked casually.

D'Artagnan announced stiffly:

"Captain de Treville, I am the grandson of Count de Batz, D'Artagnan, I have a letter of recommendation for you, I'm here to become a Musketeer!"

The man smiled bitterly to his words.

"You've mistaken me for someone else, I'm not the Captain de Treville!" - He closed his eyes for a moment, but soon after he opened them back again, drank from his bottle and began to shuffle the cards.

"Do you know where I can find him?"- asked again D'Artagnan, without being intimidated.

"No, no one knows"- the man smiled bitterly and opened the game with almost no other regard to the words of the boy.

"What? De Treville is the Captain of the Musketeers!"- the boy exclaimed.

"Go away, do not you see we're playing cards here? The Count Rochefort is the captain you are looking for, but I believe that his Musketeers have little to do with the King or Treville "- the hair of the man slid on his back, showing his back quite robust and his trained arm, not coached certainly only by playing cards in the tavern.

On his old leather uniform, faded by sun and too much use, stood out the silhouette of a torn emblem. The royal lily.

"Traitor!" - Shouted D'Artagnan at the sight, in his opinion a dishonorable and horrible act.

"Traitor is he who kisses Richelieu rings and leaves the Crown, not who defends her more than life itself!" - The man corrected him.

"You ripped the lily off your uniform! Muddying the name of the Musketeers, and that of the King! "- He justified the boy, pointing at the dark shape on his uniform.

"There is no difference between King and Cardinal: both make the law under the emblem of the lily. However, one of them doubly pretends to be king and I can guarantee that no crown embrace his head! "- The supposed traitor, armed with a shoulder strap and rapier, in the beginning had patient look, but uttering those phrases he suddenly changed mood.

The man took his arm and pointed his eyes on the boy's, were a of a deep sea blue, a thin mustache groomed encircled his lips, a sign of a long military career for several years.

"Three years ago you were but an infant between the skirts of your nurse! What do you know about what happened, the reason that prompted me to tear that damn Lily? Blissful ignorance protects you! I can say to be faithful to the King and to France and my word must be enough! Now go before I decide to punish you in any other way"- said through his teeth.

"I have been accused of drinking milk from nanny until my fourteen years?" - Asked the boy, listening to his words echo in my mind.

"Fourteen? Sorry ... I meant seventeen! "- Exclaimed the man without fear.

"This is too much! You are a traitor to the Crown and were insulting me! On guard! "- He exclaimed D'Artagnan, grabbing his sword.

"I do not fight babies. But if you insist, you tell me a place and time where is the most appropriate to meet you and give you a lesson!"- Comments the other.

D'Artagnan hesitated.

"I do not know. I'm new to Paris. Tell me ... "- shook the boy.

"Good heavens! Introduce yourself outside the walls, to the third hour, at the Hill of the Mill. You see a bell tower not too far. Or do not show up at all. Your honor will be ruined forever, but at least you will live."

"What is life without honor?"

"Life! You are an idiot! And if you show up you will be a dead idiot! "- said the man violently playing his cards on the table.

"And who should I ask?"

"Nobody's! If you do not know even where to go, definitely I will arrive before you! "- The man did not look back and not noticed D'Artagnan to leave the building in long steps and red with anger.

Just a little far ahead the inn, sitting near a fountain, a young man gulped quickly from a jug, he was rather thin, taller than D'Artagnan was and, apparently, about his own age.

Still shaken by what happened a few minutes before, D'Artagnan approached him and he gave space so that the boy could drink and refresh.

"May I ask you the courtesy to lend me your cup, father?"- Asked D'Artagnan, looking at the cross hanging from his chest and his dark clothes, however, were not those of the robe of a priest and even the weapons that hung from the shoulder strap didn't seem the ones that accompany a religious man, though not in battle.

The young man looked at him, raising his eyebrows of a lighter color than the hair, and curled the corners of his eyes, clear as the sky, in a strange expression. How taken aback, he spat some of the liquid on the floor. Any drink had been, it was darker than muddy water, brown like the scorched earth.

D'Artagnan sniffed the cup, it was not wine, had never experienced anything like it before. The taste was bitter as poison. Instinctively he spat the drink and threw the rest on the ground and rinse the jug in the fountain water.

"You want me to die!" - said D'Artagnan drinking fresh water that had nothing to do with that indescribable flavor.

The disgusted expression of the boy snapped a laugh from the young fighter.

"Maybe ..." - he said, standing up and holding out his hand to get his mug.

"You should apologize. Repent for the rudeness! "- said the boy sternly.

"Rudeness? What rudeness? I have just offered you a drink! "- Exclaimed the young man, surprised by his reaction.

"You should be excommunicated! You should be burned at the stake! A priest who drinks the water of the Devil!"- Exclaimed the boy pointing the finger at him.

The young stranger was almost turned away and was preparing to jump his horse, but the boy's words were not ignored: there was once seriously and turned back.

"This is too much! Apologize immediately for what you have just said! "- He said showing him the sharp blade of the rapier.

"Not at all! It is You who should apologize for having offended me with this disgusting stuff! "- D'Artagnan was swift and replied to the threat unsheathing his blade.

The look of the angry young man ran to the inn where D'Artagnan had gone out just before, something was going on behind him and, with the speed with which he unsheathed his weapon, he put it back in its sheath and leaped at the poor boy lapel .

"We can not fight here. Be found at the Mill, on the side hill overlooking the bell tower, on the stroke of the third hour! ".

"With pleasure!" - said the boy.

"Who should I ask for?"

"Nobody's! Surely I will arrive before you! "- Exclaimed the young man spurring his horse into a gallop and disappearing from the streets of the city.

D'Artagnan did not give too much weight to those words, I think it was in common use, or a way of saying, in the Parisian dialect.

The Hill of the Mill stood outside the city walls and only a small church could be seen in the distance. Two men were waiting carelessly the arrival of D'Artagnan. They were about the same height, one more slender and the other maybe five years older.

They heard the clear sound of three peals in the bell tower, looked around, finding one another.

"You here? "- Asked the man with dark hair.

"You here! "- Exclaimed the younger man, with a half smile.

"This morning you went away without saying goodbye! You have not yet told me what you did last night! "- Said the first.

"Why? What do you care? "- Asked the other.

"I'm interested to know what you did and where you put what in what... Of Madame de Chevreuse!"- The man smiled. The younger man laughed in response, but shook his head.

"Will you tell me that you came home empty handed? That lady was all for you! "- He exclaimed.

"You returned home empty handed and you had three ladies who were buzzing around you. Why it would be different for me? "- the young man smiled.

"Let me see your hand ... What beautiful hands you have, lean and clean! Like those of a woman! For these hands, that fit anywhere and it is with these hands that you take anything!"- The man looked at him with a strange impertinence.

The young man looked down, embarrassed and immediately withdrew from those of his friend, by stuffing them in a pair of white gloves.

The grown man took his chin to even better meet his gaze.

"It's useless to hide them! They still smell of your latest catch! "- The other did not appear intimidated and forced him to let go.

Between a laugh and the other, the two slowly began to check their weapons and saddles of their horses. Daggers hidden in the rim of the boot, gleaming rapiers, whips, cartridges and inevitable muskets ready to be loaded and shoot.

"I have not yet heard what are you doing here" - he asked again.

"A Gascon seeking quarrels. You? "- The man replied.

"For the same reason! "- replied the young man.

"Do not be shy, if you want to meet one of your women I can always leave you alone... I promise to not take her away this time!"- He retorted.

"No, a Gascon has really challenged me to a duel. "

"D'Artagnan de Batz?" - Asked the man.

"I do not know who he was, never seen him before. A short guy, little more of an infant, brown-haired, like mine, and eyes of the turquoise color. Dressed almost in rags and a rusty sword "- said the young man.

"By Jove! He must fight first with you! "- the man was surprised.

"If challenged before you, will fight before with you!" - Said the young man.

"But when I'm done with him, there will surely be nothing left of him for you!" - replied the first.

"Nothing of him will remain for you if I start first!" - Retorted the other.

The two catched eachother by the shoulders, as if they were fighting like two rams, began to push and shed their horns in strong blows of the head.

Nothing stopped them for a long quarter of an hour, until the only living being able to separate the two fighters was a bay colt who had left the city and unbridled gallop. It was followed by a tall man running, robust and well dressed.

Despite his size, he could easily stand up to the beast and, after a few attempts, grasped the animal's reins.

"May the chariot of Apollo step away without you!" - The man struggled, he had features of those of a Titan, looked back to his shoulders, his clothes had golden embroidery and a thick neat wig made of brown curls was slipping from his head, showing the hair underneath just as brown, his thick sideburns framed his face together with thick eyebrows.

The two men recognized him and came towards him to greet.

"Son of a thousand fathers... And as many mothers!" - Shouted a young man behind him, in a terrible Gascon accent.

"Mothers?" - exclaimed the three noticing the boy that ran after him.

"Nobody and Nobody! Already here? On guard! "- Continued D'Artagnan, at all discouraged, unleashing his firebox spit.

"Nobody?" - Asked the man with the beautiful robes turned to the two other men, adjusting his wig and doublet.

"Nobody. You have just said so! "- Said the man with long black hair .

"You're late for two duels with None and None!" - said the young man smiling and crossing his arms.

The elegant man looked at the scene as if something else, besides the colt, had momentarily escaped from his attention.

"Have you just said I am the son of a thousand fathers? "- asked he, tilting his head to see him better.

"... And Mothers, do not forget them!" - Added the young man behind him, with a half smile.

"... And ... Mothers" - the other man repeated, thoughtfully, carefully observing the scene.

"...A-and ... M-mothers!" - Concluded the boy, livid and trembling fist.

"Watch Yourself!" - Urged him again, wiggling her blackened spit.

The tonnage of this man, far exceeded that of the first two, so as to leave almost no hope to the poor D'Artagnan, who, neglected the first two duels, one with the third character already seemed a lost cause or a suicide.

But the three men soon lost interest in the boy when, noticing something on the horizon, joined their forces and quickly reached their rapiers, staying in a defense position.

"Go away!" - Said the man with the black hair, giving his attention to something else.

"Not until I see you beaten! Stand up! "- Continued D'Artagnan, without looking back.

But on the back of his shoulders a man that the boy had met the day before came forward at a gallop accompanied by other guards.


End file.
